


Harlow Gold

by fondcalum



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: 5sos are 5sos but they're not called 5sos, Breaking Up & Making Up, College, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Lots of Song Lyrics, Miscommunication, Musicians, Singing, Tour Bus, Tour life, Touring, author attempts to be funny
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:20:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23355322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fondcalum/pseuds/fondcalum
Summary: It's 2020, and instead of finishing her art degree at San Diego State University, Harlow Holmes is thrust into stardom as her band, loose fixture, is signed to the highly acclaimed Paper Records.She's happy and excited, all things considered, but there's a catch—Paper Records ruined the best relationship she'd ever had, just two years prior.And then there's another—loose fixture is going on tour with The Cosmic Drown, the very band that her ex boyfriend is the bassist of.How will she survive?
Relationships: Calum Hood/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter One

_ September 3rd, 2020 _

**I slammed the** door of my car, tossing my backpack into the passenger seat as I did, the contents rattling inside as it hits the worn leather. The car sputtered to life a moment later, a local radio station breaking the silence as a pop song played on, the singer crooning about the one that got away. It was another pleasantly cool Autumn evening in sunny San Diego—well, _pleasantly cool_ if you were originally from Houston. 

I quickly plugged my phone into the AUX before the silence became too much to bear,  _ The Japanese House _ playing serenely over the speakers. I threw my car into reverse and made my way out of the garage, nervously tapping my fingers on the wheel. Juggling band rehearsals, my senior year at SDSU, and a job was becoming a little too much to bear and I was only a month in. I picked at my chipped black nailpolish as the light went from yellow to red, my car coming to a stop as my phone dinged.

I glanced at Milo’s name flashing across the screen then back at the red light, chewing the inside of my cheek. Before I could second guess myself I was leaned forward, swiping the text open. 

_ Turn on 99.3 RIGHT NOW _

I frowned at the text before reaching over to switch to the station, my mouth dropping when I finally managed to do it.

_ -arry thoughts you put inside my head ‘til the day I'm dead. Why oh why? _

This was  _ my  _ song from my  _ band.  _ My eyes stung as the chorus kicked in, my own voice filling the speakers surrounding me. Can songs sound different over the radio? I’ve never sounded so real, so heard. My heart squeezed in my chest as my hands become cold with sweat, every nerve in my body seeming to curl up into tight little balls of nervous-excited energy. 

Just as I was about to burst into tears, the car behind me honked, the light ahead neon green. I swore and pushed on the gas, dialing Milo’s number as I did. The song continued onto the second verse, and I drummed along to it on the steering wheel with my free hand. 

“Milo!” I cheered when he picked up, wiggling in my chair as my heart made its way to my throat. 

_ “It’s our song motherfucker!”  _ That was Seb, his voice cracking as he whooped my eardrum off. I laughed and whooped with him.

“I know, dude! How the fuck did this happen?”

_ “It was Mark, that madman!”  _ Coral yells, her voice lifted.

“I could  _ kiss  _ that old man!”

_ “Please don't, I don't think my husband would like that very much.” _

__ I laughed as tears started falling and used my knee to steer as I wiped them away, the other side of the phone blowing up with laughter of their own. I was suddenly extremely glad for my sudden aversion to makeup in an attempt to feel confident with myself, deciding to stick to my natural face for the remainder of my life (except for special occasions, of course).

“You crazy motherfucker, how did you manage to get us on 99.3?” 

_ “Oh you know, I know a guy who knows a guy. You  _ did  _ give me a ‘#1 Manager’ mug for a reason, you know,”  _ Mark said after we all calmed down. I shook my head in disbelief and made my turn, bopping my head along to our song. 

_ “When will you be here?”  _ Coral asked, Seb and Milo chiming in to tease me and my ever-present lateness with heckles of their own. 

“A swift five, my dear. I’m passing that Starbucks now —and no, I am not stopping this time.”

_ “Your addiction to coffee knows no bounds, Harlow.” _

“It was one time! And I—”

_ “Had just pulled an all-nighter to try and finish your gallery piece, we  _ know.  _ See you when you get here, we’re gonna paaartay!”  _ Milo swiftly cut me off. I smiled through the teasing as I rolled my eyes. 

“Okay losers, see you soon!”

I clicked my phone off and cranked up the radio as the rest of the song continued, yell-singing the lyrics I wrote as I danced in my seat. I probably looked crazy—tear-stained cheeks, face red from  _ everything _ —but I didn’t  _ care.  _ I never thought this day would  _ actually  _ come, especially after only playing in small venues and locally for a few year. I wiped my tears and turned the volume down to an appropriate level as the song drifted to an end, the host’s clear voice causing my heart to squeeze in my chest.

_ “That was San Diego’s own  _ loose fixture _ and their single Something To Hold Onto, a hit in the making! Up next is  _ The Cosmic Drown’s  _ latest single, Moving Along.” _

I fumbled with the aux cord as Luke Hemming’s crystal-clear voice rang through the speakers, replacing his voice with Joji’s low rasp and releasing a breath. Despite the sudden interruption from my past, my spirits were high and I bopped my head along to COME THRU, a smile never leaving my face. 

It took less than five to reach Coral and Seb’s place, and I practically sprinted to their door in my haste to reach my bandmates, my backpack digging into my side as I ran. 

“What the fuck is happening!” I cheered as I ran to their living room, the small space crammed with my bandmates and Mark, everyone with a drink already in hand. It was barely 7 pm, but when on the radio, right?

“We’re on the radio, bitch!” Coral cheered, putting her drink down to jump from Seb’s side. She looked radiant, her brown skin glowing in the evening sun that bled through the windows. Her almost-black eyes were bright with joy, and I pulled her shorter frame into a hug, laughing as Seb and Milo joined us. Our cheers filled the air as we jumped around in a circle, a tangle of limbs. When we finally pulled apart, Milo and I shared a smile over Coral head, his blue eyes dancing.

Milo had been my best friend since we started the band just three years prior. Well, not exactly  _ started— _ Seb, Milo, and Coral were already a band, I just stepped in as the lead vocalist when their original lead singer was out sick. One thing led to another, and I ended up joining permanently after the original guy flaked one too many times. I took in the familiar sight of Milo’s tousled brown hair and dimpled cheeks, his smile warming me from the inside out.

Mark passed me a glass of a distinctly pink liquid, my smile growing as I recognized my favorite cheap wine—Barefoot Pink Moscato. I raise my glass as everyone grabbed their drinks. 

“To Mark, for getting us on the  _ radio,  _ holy shit,” I started, smiling at the man in question. He was middle-aged with salt and pepper hair and wrinkles around his eyes from smiling, his cheeks slightly pink under all of our cheers and general too-much-ness.

“To Mark!” Coral, Milo, and Seb cheered, and we all took a drink. 

“To Coral, for keeping our asses in line!” Milo toasted, and we all cheered, “to Coral!” before taking another drink.

We continued around the circle, laughing and cheering with every drink, our volume increasing as we continued around. I didn’t drink too often, so by the time we got to the end of the circle I could feel the alcohol making its way to my face, tinting my cheeks pink as my thoughts became looser and looser.

“And finally,” Coral started, a bright grin spreading across her face as she tipped her glass at me, the red liquid tilting with her hand. “To the bastard that broke Harlow’s heart and got her to write a  _ killer  _ album.”

“To the bastard! To Harlow!” I laughed around my last mouthful of wine, heat burning my cheeks as Seb wrapped an arm around me and jostled me around. He ducked his head down to smile at me, his brown eyes understanding and warm. I snaked my arm around his waist and pulled him closer, allowing myself a moment to tuck my head under his chin in a side hug before pulling away again. 

“I seriously couldn't have done it without y’all,” I told them after swallowing my drink, pulling Coral to my other side. Milo just smiled and shook his head, used to my constant deflecting. 

“In that case, to  _ loose fixture,”  _ Mark replied, raising his glass to us. 

“To  _ loose fixture,”  _ I said around the emotion welling in my chest, choking me. 

The silence hung between us, light, as we all soaked it in. This was important, this was  _ good.  _ But everything was about to change, and we all knew it. As though reading my mind, Seb pulled away from my side to look at the four of us, his brows creased just so. His normally pin-straight black hair looked mussed from all the roughhousing but his glasses had stayed firmly in place on the bridge of his sloped nose. “So… What now?” 

Mark smiled, delighted, and set down his drink, reaching for his briefcase. “Now, we work!”

I groaned at his words and retreated to my favorite chair, placing my glass on the coffee table before kicking my shoes off to tuck my feet under me as I sat. Coral, Seb, and Milo took the couch as Mark grabbed the other chair, unclipping his briefcase. 

“So,” He repeated with a grin, pulling out some papers. “Remember how I told you I know a guy who knows a guy?” 

“Considering that happened like fifteen minutes ago, yes,” Coral deadpanned. Mark rolled his eyes as I chucked, bumping our fists together with a whispered,  _ nice. _

“Well, the ‘guy’ I happen to know knows the president of Paper Records, and…” Mark's voice dissolved into the background as  _ Paper Records  _ played on a loop in my mind, my stomach dropping as breathing became the  _ slightest _ bit harder. 

_ Paper Records, Paper Records, Paper Records… _

_ (my band’s getting signed to paper records) _

“Holy shit,” Seb says, breaking me from my trance. I blinked away from Mark's smiling face to glance at my bandmates. Seb and Coral stared at one another with mutual looks of shock, their mouths hung open. Milo—calm, collected Milo—had his head in his hands.

“Wait, what?”

“Oh my  _ God,  _ Harlow!” Milo suddenly exclaimed, a grin breaking across his pleasant face as his head jerked up. I stared at him with wide eyes, not expecting the outburst. “We’re getting signed to  _ Paper Records!”  _

“Oh my God,” I repeated in a haze, rubbing my temples. My brain was short-circuiting, my thoughts running together and tumbling over one another in their haste to be heard. It was deafening, confusing, before Milo placed a delicate hand on my shoulder, bringing me down. I cut him a grateful smile as I picked at a loose seam in my jeans, wetting my suddenly dry lips. 

“Hey, you okay?” He asked, eyebrows creased as he looked me over.

“What about college?” My brain settled on, the most coherent thought. I didn’t even register what Milo asked until a second later, so I placed my hand on top of his and gave it a little squeeze in reply. 

“No offense, but  _ fuck  _ college, girl. I’m three years into a gender studies degree with no prospective jobs on my horizon,” Coral said. “This is what we’ve been  _ working toward,  _ Harlow. We’ve dreamed about this.”

I knew what Coral was objectively right, because we  _ had  _ been working towards this. Kinda. I mean, I loved the band, and I loved my bandmates, but if i was being honest I never really thought we could do it. I’d never had the kind of faith that Coral has had in us, but maybe that had something to do with it being  _ me _ who’s the lead singer. I’m sure if I actually saw us perform I’d be thinking differently, but I’ve never believed in  _ myself _ enough to even entertain the thought of actually  _ doing something  _ with music.

“Dreaming about something and it becoming a reality are two different things. I’m not—I'm an  _ artist. _ A painter. I’m good in my field, and I can't just… Give that up my  _ senior year,”  _ I looked at Mark as he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. He had his Work Dad face on, but I plunged ahead. “I have showcases and gallery viewings coming up! I’ve spent  _ years  _ working toward them, towards becoming someone in the art world. I’m in the middle of creating my thesis for grad school. You’re telling me I have to give that all up?”

I hated that I meant the words I was saying, watching as a weight sank in my stomach at the looks on my bandmates faces. I was being selfish and I knew it, but it’s not like I ever  _ really  _ thought about what it would be like to actually get signed. Much less to  _ Paper Records _ .

“Think about it like this: your art will be easier to promote as a popular musician, and you’ll have a healthy hobby alongside your career as a musician,” Mark said when I was done, his voice gentle and soothing. 

I chewed on the inside of my cheek as his words sank in, unmoved. “That’s true.” _But that's not the right way_ —no. That was my mother talking. That wasn’t how I _wanted_ to do it. My hands shook the onslaught of my thoughts, every nerve in my body seeming to curl into itself as I pulled on the seam of my jeans a little harder, my stomach filling with acid.

As my face began to heat, I suddenly stood, my body thrumming from the inside out. I dug in the front pocket of my backpack, searching for a small box. “I need a smoke.”

Coral frowned at me as I raised to full height, smokes in hand. “I thought you quit.”

“Winners never quit,” I called behind me with my hands shoved deep into my pockets, a lighter already in my jacket pocket. 

The cooling air was pleasant against my flushed skin, and I took no time to tie up my hair and light a cig, sucking in until the cherry burned red. I knew I was going to agree and that we were going to sign, but I just needed this moment alone. They know not to bother me during one of my “moments”, either. Bless them, really, for knowing me well enough to give me space to breathe. 

Still, I rolled the idea over in my head. I wanted  _ both.  _ School and signing. I wanted them both but I had to choose, and I was  _ not  _ going to be selfish so we’d sign. I shook my head and filled my lungs with more nicotine, my nerves calming into a dull buzz. Despite losing a place in the art world, I would gain so much. Money would be easier, at least when we started making more music. I would have a way to actually be  _ heard _ . I could broadcast my voice wider, do something about the world we live in. Being famous would be kinda cool, too. I wouldn’t be forgotten. 

(i wouldn’t be alone?)

I waved at a passing car, an old habit from my neighborhood back home that I couldn’t seem to shake. I gave the cig one last pull before dropping the cigarette butt, still lit, on the driveway and stubbed it out under my shoe, the small  _ ssss _ it let out a familiar, welcome sound.  _ We should mix that sound into a future song, _ I noted, looking down at the crushed butt, gray ash spilling onto gray concrete. I undid my hair from its low ponytail and shook it out, the curls bouncing back into their messy shapes. With my purple scrunchie secured around my wrist, I headed back inside. 

The murmur of voices quickly died out as I made my way into view, my hands in the pockets of my jacket. I silently sat down, my face held carefully blank as I made eye-contact with Mark. 

“So, we’re signing. Then what?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, some notes:
> 
> 5sos is still 5sos, but they're called The Cosmic Drown bc they have a slightly different sound! It's old 5sos mixed with some all time low bc i wanted them to have more of a pop-punk sound as opposed to their newer, pop sound (though i still include some of their new songs, excluding anything from CALM bc that was released after this was written)
> 
> loose fixture's sound is a mix of the band camino (i chose this band before 5sos announced they were going on tour together which is WILD), phoebe bridgers, and beach bunny! plus whatever else i add as i write, it really depends on harlow's mood.
> 
> pls bare with me as i set the story up!! i promise 5sos will make an appearance in a few chapters! im writing this more like a novel as opposed to the fast-pased fanfiction we're all accustomed to bc im using this as a sort of cathartic way for me to get some of my emotions out. 
> 
> i also have a lot of media i've made for this--album covers, tour posters, playlists of the two band's "albums". i will be linking everything and posing those things as the story progresses! 
> 
> i hope u enjoyed this if i gave it a read, let me know how im doing (": i havent written in 1st person ever, so if i ever mess up tenses or if my prose seems off, just let me know and i'll fix it!


	2. Chapter Two

_ September 4th, 2020 _

**I paced around** the little floorspace in my room, twisting a curl of lavender hair between my fingers as I stared down at my phone, my dad’s contact information pulled up. It was time I called my family to break the news; to have them hear it from me before it became too late to try and fix whatever mess I was about to create. I checked the time and clicked the call button before I could talk myself out of it, sitting on the edge of my bed as I chewed the skin around my thumb nail. It was around 6 p.m. in Houston, so my parents should both be home for dinner at this point.

_ “Hi, Lolo” _ My dad said when the call was picked up, the sound of his voice and the familiar nickname causing something to unfurl in my chest.  _ “Your mom’s in the other room. What’s up?” _

“Hey dad,” I said, smiling. It was always easier between my dad and I, a constant I’d be forever grateful for. Still, I sucked in a nervous breath before I let the words tumble out in one breath. “My band’s getting signed to a label. I can’t do both music and school, so I’ll have to drop out. I’m sorry for disappointing you.”

_ “I’m not disappointed, Harlow,” _ My dad promised, his voice low through the speaker.  _ “I’m damn proud of you, kiddo. You’re following your dreams! Not everyone can say that. I wish I would’ve followed my dreams when I was your age. _ ”

“You’re not mad about school?”

_ “How are  _ you _ feeling about it?” _

“I—” My voice cracked as a few loose tears broke free, my emotions about everything breaking free from their bounds (they always did when I spoke to my parents). I wiped my nose with the sleeve of my hoodie and cleared my throat, trying to piece together my frazzled emotions. “I’m really sad, honestly. I’m gonna lose this part of me I’ve been building up for years because I’m going down a different path, but… I have to consider everyone else, too.  _ loose fixture  _ is important to Coral, Seb, and Milo—they want it, and I won’t be the one to keep them from it.”

_ “College is just one option of many,” _ My dad reminded me.  _ “There’s no reason you’ll never be able to go back if that’s what you really want to do. And music isn’t something you’d have to do forever! Do whatever will make you feel more complete.” _

“Thanks, dad,” I said, chewing on the inside of my cheek. I let out a breath and tried to steady my heartbeat, rolling out tense my shoulders. “Can you pass the phone to mom? I need to tell her, too.”

_ “Whatever you need. I love you, Harlow, and don’t you forget it.” _

“I love you too, old man,” I replied, smiling. “Bye.”

_ “Bye, here’s your mother,” _ He passed the phone off, the sound causing static as it was passed from one set of hands to another. I twirled a curl around my finger as my mother’s voice came through,  _ “Hey, sweetheart. What’s up?” _ . 

“Hey mom,” I let out a deep breath before continuing, staring at the constellation of art and photos on my wall. “You remember how I told you I joined a band, like, two, three years ago?  _ loose fixture?” _

_ “How could I forget that name?” _

I laughed at her teasing, the sound coming out forced to my own years. “Well… This manager scouted us and has been working for us for the past year and a half, and… We’re getting signed by Paper Records in a few weeks.”

Silence falls on the other side of the phone, my heart sinking in my stomach. 

_ “What does that mean? What about college?” _

“I’ll have to drop out, most likely. It’s pretty fast, I know, but—”

_ “Did you ever stop to consider how this would affect us?” _ She cut me off, her voice going flat as her anger seeped through. I closed my eyes and dropped my hand to fisted around my duvet, gritting my teeth together.  _ “We’ve spent all of this money for your degree—in  _ art, _ no less—and you didn’t even stop to consider how that might affect us financially. Money doesn't grow on trees around here you know. Why can't you be more like your brother? He stayed home and is doing amazing. He’s on track to graduate  _ summa cum laude _ in business  _ on top _ of playing baseball. Why do you insist on being so  _ selfish _ all of the damn time?” _

“I’m sorry,” I managed to get out when she was done, throwing my head back as my eyes stung and a rock wedged itself into my throat.  _ Half of my school is paid for my scholarships and grandpa pays for tuition,  _ I wanted to remind her, but I held my tongue. “Give me a number and I’ll pay you back whatever you’ve spent on me.”

“ _ Just, _ ” my mother sighed, the sound tired.  _ “Talk to your brother, I can’t deal with this right now. _ ” Over the rustling of the phone being passed, silent tears streamed down my face, leaving hot trails in their wake.  _ Why can’t you just accept me?  _ I wanted to cry out, not for the first time in my life.

_ “What’s up, weirdo? Why is mom mad?” _

“Hey, Harrison,” I greeted. I pinched the bridge of my nose, forcing my tears to stop. “My band is getting signed to a label.”

_ “Oh,” _ His voice goes quiet, his usual teasing nature falling away.  _ “So you’re never coming home? _ ”

“I’m still coming to Christmas and Thanksgiving! And I’ll make every baseball game I can, and all of the ones I’ll miss I’ll make sure to watch on TV.” 

_ “You always do this, Harlow. It’s always something new with you,” _ Harrison said.  _ “I just feel like I don't even know you anymore. I don't even remember what you look like half the time.” _

His words were unexpected. Harrison was usually an easy-going, laid back kid who always had something positive or funny to say. I bit my lip and winced at the pain. “I’m sorry I’m not there for you.”

Harrison sighs.  _ “I’m sorry we’re not enough for you. Bye, Harlow.” _

“Harrison—” I started, but the call dropped before I could continue. The phone clattered to the floor as I dropped it, disappearing under my desk somewhere as I slid off of my bed and brought my face to my knees, crying. 

All I wanted was for them to just… Get it. Get  _ me.  _ But I wasn't who they wanted me to be, or who they thought I was. They won’t even  _ try  _ to understand me or try to know me. They would rather push me away than get to know me, which is the worst part of it all. 

It wasn't always this way. Before college, my mother was one of my best friends. We would go on road trips and harmonize to songs on the radio as we ate snacks. We’d text each other for fun, sending pictures of random things throughout the day. We’d cuddle in her bed, watching a Housewives show or Disney movie, me pointing out the plot-holes, her hating me for it. It’s almost the polar opposite now. She’s hated every decision I’ve made since coming to California—hated  _ me _ since I moved away. 

I pushed my face harder into my knees to muffle the last of my sobs, rubbing my nose on my gray sweatpants. With shuddering breaths I straighten my legs out, wiping my face with the sleeve of my hoodie with a groan. I  _ hated  _ crying.  _ Hated hated hated  _ it. It always felt so… selfish. So many other people have it worse than just a mother who doesn't love them like they once did. 

Milo crossed my mind for a second, my heart yearning for someone to reach out and hold me, to tell me everything would be fine. But my brain caught up a moment later and cringed, the weaker part of me who just wanted to be held retreating back into its place. I didn’t like being vulnerable in front of my friends. It happened, of course, while watching sad movies, or after a bad project grade. But if I could help it, I would hide it from them, keeping my emotions locked away until I was alone. I think growing up and feeling like a burden for your emotions must have… Stuck to me in some way. Even now at twenty-one I just couldn’t let people  _ in.  _

I wallowed in it until my tears stopped flowing and my nose ran dry, leaning my head back to stare at my popcorn ceiling. I filled my lungs to the top, my chest rattling with the last of my tears as I blew it back out, over and over again until my breathing was steady, my hands still. I turned my head toward my window, the mid-afternoon sun casting parallel shadows onto the messy floor of my room, a physical manifestation of my mental state. In a flash I was standing, gathering all of my dirty clothes in my arms, kicking any I couldn’t hold toward my hamper. I dumped the clothes in my hamper, balancing them all until they were purposefully off of my floor. I spotted my notebook and bong on my desk and grabbed them both, fishing my phone out from under my desk. With the essentials in hand, I settled onto my bed. 

I lit a hit from my bong, breathing in the smoke until my emotions started to slide away, my consciousness pinpointing into one quiet stream of thought. Weed was the only thing that stripped away my emotions without giving away my creativity, so I thumbed open my worn notebook and clicked open a pen, the words coming to me easily.

_ I spent too much time in my room _

_ I keep too many secrets from you _

_ I like to be alone but it's bad for me _

_ ‘Cus I spend too much time in my room _

I picked apart the conversations with my mother and brother, my relationships with my friends, my relationship with  _ myself _ , but there was something missing to it. I needed one more verse, but... I paused, sitting up from my hunched writing position. I thought back to Mark’s news and the label we were signing to, the same label that signed  _ The Cosmic Drown  _ just two years ago. Coincidentally, it was around the same time Calum Hood broke up with me.

I understood why he did it, but it didn’t stop me from being hurt. I knew I wasn’t going to find another person like him, or another person so right for me they just… Understood me. I hated the fact that I was about to insert him into  _ another  _ one of my songs, but his being demanded my attention, even two years later.

_ sometimes I still think about you _

_ I don't tell you all the things I used to _

I set my pen down and signed, reading over the words. There, that was it. That was all the attention he was getting this time. 

The next few hours I spent recording different melodies on my phone, writing up notes for my bandmates to create the rest of the composition. It was how we worked—I would come up with the lyrics and a fragment of the melodies, Seb would take over the drums while Coral would handle the bass, and Milo would work his magic on the rest. He  _ was _ a music major, after all. 

It was nearly 3 a.m. by the time I tossed my notebook to the floor and carefully placed my guitar next to it. I clicked off my lamp and crawled under the pile of blankets I kept on my bed, sighing as I slipped into the cool sheets. Now that I didn’t have anything to distract my mind with, the emotions from the conversation with my mother on top of my lingering disdain for  _ Paper Records  _ in general sunk in, filling my brain with a fog. 

All of _this_ just _sucks_. If I had the balls to finally get a therapist, they would get an earful about my emotional rollercoaster of a week. I rolled onto my side and clicked on my phone, the brightness burning my corneas with a _hiss._ Wincing, I turned down the brightness and tapped until my sleep playlist started, double checking my alarm before clicking the device closed and stuffing it under my pillow. _Joji’s_ “Will He” played through the fabric, lulling me to sleep. 

I was so emotionally exhausted I passed out almost immediately, my restless thoughts at bay for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wasnt gonna post this yet but then i said fuck it and did! no one is reading this anyways haha i am speaking into the void
> 
> also for future reference?, here are ages:
> 
> harlow (21), coral (22), seb (21), milo (21) - h, s, and m are the same age as coral her bday is just b4 theirs ok
> 
> calum (23), luke (23), mike (24), ash (24) - c, l, m are all the same grade or whatever, i aged luke up bc my house my rules and also for narrative purposes, god bless


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a wild calum appears

**I am awoken** by the sound of light knocking at my door, though I’d actually been lying between sleep and consciousness for the better part of an hour. I groaned as I got in my morning stretch, my shoulders popping as I did. I sat up as I called for Milo to enter (because who else would it be?), checking the time on my phone to see it's only just half past ten. 

“Hey, just wanted to let you know I’m headed to school. Gotta,” Milo waved his hands around in a general motion, “Sort out my shit over there. Wanna join? I’ll give you time to change and…” He sniffed the air and grimaced. “Shower.”

“Ha. Ha,” I said, grabbing my glasses from my side table so I can actually  _ see  _ his face, and not just a blurry blob in the shape of him. He’s wearing his “uniform” today—black jeans, high top converse, and a graphic tee I'm pretty sure he stole from me a few years back. “I wrote a song for our album, so you should thank the smell.”

Milo nodded, serious, and looked at the air around the room. “Thank you, mix of weed, sweat, and pure, unadulterated despair. You have done us all a great honor.”

“Oh fuck  _ off, _ ” I said as I laughed for the first time in hours, throwing a stuffed animal at him as something warm settled in my chest. He caught the rabbit easily, giving her fur a quick pet before tossing her back. “I’m not ready to deal with school yet, but I’ll shower and air out the room while you’re gone, okay?”

“Sure,” Milo said, easy. He put his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and rocked on his toes. “We have that meeting at 2 with the label people, too. So, I don’t know, shave or something.”

“ _ Milo!”  _ I laughed, shaking my head at him. “Please tell me why I need to  _ shave  _ to go to a  _ meeting?” _

“I don’t know! Girls are into shaving when there’s an important event, right?”

“When that important event is sex, sure. For a meeting? They’ll be lucky if I put on pants.”

“Harlow—and I cannot dress this enough— _ please _ put on pants,” His face was serious except for the slight twitch in his right eyebrow. I’d known him long enough to recognize his Serious Face from his Faux-Serious Face, so I grabbed my pillow and threw it at his head, smacking him square on the face.

“Oh my god, get out of my room before I hit you again.” 

Milo laughed as he threw the pillow back, re-shaping his floppy brown hair into its usual mass of curls on his head. “ _ Okay _ , fine. But one last question: what’s the song called?”

“Oh!” I grabbed my notebook and opened to the page of scribbled lyrics, sitting up to hand it to him. “It's called  _ I Spend Too Much Time In My Room.”  _

“Fitting,” Milo mumbled as he scanned the lyrics, nodding as he read them. It was always anxiety-inducing whenever someone got a peek at a song before it was completely done, but Milo was always kind and managed to make me feel better about even the worst of songs (and there have been some  _ bad  _ ones). “We needed another sad song,” he says as he passes it back, smiling.

“Well, when inspiration strikes…”

“The writer writes,” He finished with a roll of his eyes. “I’ll see you at two, Otis. Remember to shave!”

“Bye, Milo!” I sing-song, my laugh following his retreating frame as he leaves the room, my ears listening for the locking of our front door before I flopped back down. I stared up at the ceiling, star-fished out, for the next few minutes, mourning the loss of the sleep I had originally planned on doing. 

With a sigh I grabbed my towel from its place on the back of my chair and went to shower, making sure I scrubbed every inch of my body and hair to rid me of all the grime and sweat stuck to me, Milo’s words a gentle reminder that today was  _ important  _ for us.

I could feel my anxiety picking up the closer and closer it got to the time I was supposed to be leaving, my mind working on autopilot as my body began to shut down. I managed to throw all of my laundry into the washer and clean the whole kitchen by the time it was finally time to leave, my hands only shaking slightly as I grabbed by keys from their tray next to the door. 

Before I walked out the front door I went over how I looked one last time, scrutinizing myself in the mirror Milo  _ insisted  _ that we hang next to the door. I had tried to look slightly more professional, despite what Milo thought of me. Instead of my usual thrited find, I had on a black blouse with white polka-dots, the sleeves flowing from the cinched point around my wrists. My jeans were dark-wash and clean, my shoes a comfortable pair of black wedged sandals that gave me an extra inch. I  _ did  _ decide to do my makeup today, but it wasn’t anything elaborate like I knew Coral would have—it was just mascara, concealer for my under-eye bags, and the slightest bit of an eyebrow pomade to make them look slightly less transparent against my already transparent skin. My hair must’ve known I needed a win today because my curls look full and shiny in the mid-afternoon light, my brown hair looking almost golden. I had even re-dyed the front lilac strips of my hair, returning them to their ultraviolet glory. 

With one final, anxious look, I left for the Paper Records building, barely registering the songs shuffling through my phone as I drove, chewing on the skin around my thumb nail. _Fuck, I forgot to repaint them,_ I thought as I glanced down at the chipped nail-polish on my nails, chewing on the inside of my cheek at a red light. Whatever, it’s not like we were signing to a hand-model company. They can deal with chipped nailpolish. 

It took almost two hours to finally reach Paper Records, California’s incessant traffic ever the headache. I parked my car in the garage and pulled up the email our new manager, Tracey, had sent us, following her thorough instructions until I was on one of the highest floors. 

I cautiously stepped out of the elevator and into the waiting room, sleek black-leather couches and chairs placed sporadically throughout the room. The whole building seemed to be under the same strict color pallet: gray floors, white walls, black furniture. The only color in the room was the various framed albums around the room and the fake plants on the receptionists’ desk. That, and Coral. 

I spotted my close friend on one of the couches with Seb, her coily hair pulled up in two space buns on her head. Coral always dressed to a theme, so the gold star clips framing her face were a familiar sight in an unfamiliar place, almost putting me at home.

“Harlow!” She cheered as she spotted me, darting up to give me a quick hug. Now that I could see the rest of her outfit, the stars in her hair made sense. Her black turtleneck sparkled with pieces of micro-glitter, a pair of gold moon and star earrings dangling from her ears. Under each of her winged eyes was a small golden star on her lower lash line, her eyes twinkling whenever they were caught in the lights. 

“You look  _ radiant,''  _ I told her as we pulled back, holding her at arm's length as I took in her look. Coral laughed and did a turn for me, grinning. She really was radiant.

“Why thank you my dear,” She kissed my cheek as Seb stood to grab his own hug, his outfit neat and simple—dark wash jeans, a black button down, and his black vans. He traded his glasses for his contacts, Coral and I sharing a smile behind his back because we both knew he only wore his contacts for  _ special  _ events.

“You look beautiful as well,” Seb told me as he pulled back, tugging on one of the purple strips that framed my face. I laughed and pushed him away, my face heating from the compliment. It’s not that  _ Sebastian  _ made me flustered, just the compliment itself. 

“I agree,” Coral said as we all sat, Seb and Coral back to their original spots on the couch and myself in the chair across from them. “ _ And  _ you smell good. Don’t tell me you actually  _ showered  _ before this?”

“Ha ha,” I said deadpan, trying to get comfortable in the stiff chair. “Milo told y’all about this morning then?”

“Of course he did, he looks after you like he’s your mother,” Coral jokes, earning a laugh from Seb and I. “Honestly, we came up with this whole emergency plan in case you came here looking like…” Coral gestured off to the side with her hand, but I knew what she was trying to say.

“My normal self? Nah, I had too much nervous energy to do anything else  _ but _ get myself ready for this,” Seb nodded sagely at my words, earning an eye-roll from Coral.

“This one was all about the nerves this morning,” She said with a mock-annoyed face, slinging an arm around her fiancé’s back. Seb made a face at her, sticking his tongue out as she laughed and continued, “We got here thirty minutes ago.  _ Thirty! _ A whole  _ hour _ before our meeting.”

“I just wanted to make sure we got here on time! LA traffic is crazy,” Seb defended, crossing his arms over his chest. Seb and I were actually the same when it came to getting to new places early, though our similarities on punctuality ended there. While Seb was the type of person to show up to  _ everything _ early, I had a tendency toward perfect punctuality, arriving anywhere right on time or pushing the clock until I was a few minutes late. Coral smiled and kissed his cheek, rubbing away the red lipstick she left behind with her thumb.

“I know, baby. Why do you think I started getting ready an hour earlier than you?” 

I watched them finish their flirty banter with a smile, content with being the third wheel for a moment. Seb and Coral were really good about including me when it was just the three of us hanging without Milo, but I was always grateful for those moments where I could just watch their domesticity. My favorite nights were spent sitting on one of the barstools in their kitchen as we shared a bottle of wine, watching the way they moved around one another as they cooked for me, two dancers on the floor.

“Milo also mentioned that you’d written a new song,” Seb said as their conversation ended, giving me an encouraging grin. I nodded with a smile. “What’s it about?”

“Well, after a delightful phone call with my family, take a wild guess,” I joked, resting my fist against my cheek as I relaxed a little more into the chair. Coral and Seb made twin faces of understanding. 

“Yikes,” Coral said, scrunching her face up before brightening again. “Well, we needed another slow song anyways. Do you want to talk about it?”

I shook my head no, though part of me felt like I was lying. “Nah, I’m good. Once I got it all out I felt better about everything. I’ll let you know if it eats away at me, though.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Harlow,” Coral promised, pointing a finger at me. I grinned at her stern expression and opened my mouth to respond, stopping as the elevator beeped behind me. Milo stepped out a moment later, his hands in the front pockets of his jean jacket. I grinned as we made eye contact, waving at my best friend. His long strides made it over to us quickly, barely giving me enough time to stand before we were hugging, his arms tight around my waist.

“Did you just  _ sniff  _ me?” I asked as we pulled away. Milo’s face went carefully blank, but his eyes were wide as he replied.

“Just wanted to make sure you showered, is all,” His voice was carefully innocent—light. I pulled away and smacked his arm, scowling.

“Jackass!” I cried out with a smile, Milo bursting into laughter as he batted me away. I crossed my arms over my chest as we all sat down, Milo in the chair next to me. “You guys have no faith in me.”

“Oh, you know we do it out of love,” Milo chided, pursing his lips at me. I stuck my tongue out at him, crossing my eyes. Milo did it back before we broke into another fit of laughter, Seb and Coral sharing amused looks with one another. 

“What do y’all think this meeting is about anyway?” I asked after Milo and I had settled down, looking to Coral for my answer. She met my eyes and shrugged, glancing toward the receptionist at his desk. 

“I dunno, when Seb and I got here he just told us to sit and wait for Tracey to come get us,” She said, shrugging with her words. I cut a glance at the secretary for myself, the young man too focused on his computer to notice our staring. 

“Album shit, then?” Milo supplied, bouncing his leg. I noticed it and bit back a smile. At least we were all pretty nervous, not just me. “We’re dropping it in December, so we have like another month, tops, to write and record before we start getting shit ready for the release.”

“It’s a little unreal how fast all of this is happening,” Seb said, shaking his head with a smile. I felt my own smile grow at his words, nodding my head. It  _ does  _ feel unreal, and maybe even a little wrong. I never thought I’d actually have the chance to  _ be  _ something, and was content in my normality and the normality I thought I would have the rest of my life. Graduate college, get a job, get married, have kids. Part of me was  _ excited  _ for the domesticity of normality, and that same part was mourning the loss of it. 

I could feel my thoughts begging to run away, spiraling down within me, and reached for my bag, my hands finding my notebook and a loose pen with ease. I needed to  _ do  _ something to get my anxiety out, to distract it and direct its focus onto something else. 

“Is that your notebook?” Coral asked incredulously. “ _ Why?” _

“Note-taking, duh,” I said as I started sketching out the shape of an eye, my go-to mindless activity. Milo leaned on the chair between us, pressing our arms together as he looked over. I glanced up at Coral to see her nodding.

“Smart, but if I see you doodling while someone important is talking, I  _ will _ take your pen away from you,” She warns, pointing a finger at me with a stern expression, her eyebrows creased. I realized then that this was  _ her  _ way of being anxious—making sure we stay in line so we don’t mess this up. I smiled at her, reassuring.

“I’ll doodle before the meeting, pinky-promise,” I held up my pinky for Coral and she nodded, a smile breaking across her face. I passed Milo my notebook and pen as I rose to meet Coral between the coffee table between us, linking our pinkies together before kissing our thumbs, pinkies still intertwined. 

As I got re-settled, notebook securely in hand, a new voice greeted us. 

“Hi guys, I’m Tracey Sears,” A bubbly voice said from behind me. I turned toward the voice and was greeted by the sight of a woman in a charcoal gray pencil skirt and navy blue blouse, fine jewelry and a sapphire gem on her left ring finger. I noticed the ring when she reached her hand out for me to shake, her red lipstick smooth and even, teeth pearly white. She was young and pretty, with short blonde hair that curled around her chin from where it was tucked behind her ears. “It’s so lovely to finally meet you all in person!”

“It’s good to meet you, too, I’m Harlow,” I said, shaking her hand with a smile. The rest of the band followed suit after me, greeting Tracey with smiles and handshakes of their own. Once the introductions were all sorted, I spoke before Tracey could. “I  _ love  _ your ring by the way. Is that a sapphire?”

Tracey smiled, pleased, holding the ring out to me. “It is! My wife proposed with it. I know it’s non-traditional and a little extra, but it’s perfect for me.”

“It’s beautiful,” I said truthfully, holding her fingers in mine as I got a closer look at it. “I’m more of a non-traditional engagement ring girl myself.”

“Nora, my wife, is the more traditional one between the two of us,” Tracey told me as she led us through a door and down a long hallway, conference rooms on one side and floor to ceiling windows on the other. You could practically see all of LA from up here, and I had to force myself to look away from it so I wouldn’t zone out of the conversation. “Her ring looks more like Coral’s, actually. Have you and Sebastian set a date yet?”

At the mention of her name, Coral joined in the conversation, the three of us chatting about weddings and other Very Important Things until we stopped in front of a room, Tracey holding the door open for us. She gave us a reassuring smile as we filed into the meeting room, Seb taking the lead and sitting near the head of the table as Coral, myself, and Milo followed. The room was big with a long, speckled-gray, oval-shaped table in the middle of it, black office chairs surrounding it. In the center of the table was snacks and mini water bottles, and a small pot of yellow plastic flowers. There were no windows, so the walls were decorated with various albums produced under Paper Records in thick black frames, scribbles for signatures shining in gold and silver sharpie. My eyes glossed over the albums by  _ The Cosmic Drown _ , instead focusing on what  _ loose fixture’s  _ album art would look like on the walls—if we could even make it that far. 

“Okay! You guys get settled in; I'll be back with you all shortly,” Tracey told us with another smile, clasping her hands in front of her. She was almost vibrating with excitement from her position in the doorway, her presence filling up the room before she vanished behind the door, the soft  _ click  _ of it closing a humbling sound. 

“Oh my  _ god,” _ I whispered to Milo, gripping his arm as everything sank in. We had just met our actual, real-life  _ manager.  _ A  _ real  _ one, with real connections and a real record company (not that Mark wasn’t  _ real _ —this was just  _ different _ ). 

“I know,” Milo whispered back, placing a hand on the one I had wrapped around his arm. “Good job befriending our new manager, by the way. You’re so shit at communicating with us I forgot how good you are at actually holding a conversation.”

I laughed at the backhanded compliment, knocking my shoulder with his as I took my hand back, getting my notebook and pen out of my purse. I didn’t have much more time to draw, so I quickly got to it, sketching out the beginnings of a face. “I  _ communicate  _ with you guys. Watch this,” I said before flipping Milo off without looking up from my notebook. 

“Ha, ha, very funny,” Milo said humorously, pushing my hand away from his face. I looked up from my notebook at the sound of his voice, my eyes tracing over the lines of his face. He looked completely normal from the waist up, but I could feel his leg shaking from where our chairs were connected. He wasn’t looking at me—his blue eyes were lifted toward the walls, taking in the success around us. 

“I think Tracey is gonna be a good fit,” I said after a beat, glancing away from Milo to catch Coral’s gaze. She was nervously biting the inside of her cheek, her mouth pinched to the side. Seb wasn’t in much better shape if the incessant drumming on the table was anything to go by. I swallowed thickly, trying to think of something to take their minds off of their anxieties, to get them laughing and talking like usual. “I am gonna miss Tequila Thursday’s with Mark, though.”

“Oh my god, Tequila Thursday’s!” Seb said, his face brightening at the tradition. Thankfully, the revival of Tequila Thursday’s was enough to pull their heads from the clouds and get them to talk to one another, the four of us filling the room with talk and laughter as we brought up old times and forgotten jokes. 

“Do you remember that night—” Coral started, laying her hand on my drawing arm to get my attention away from the page in front of me. Before she could finish, the door across from us opened, drawing eight pairs of expectant eyes to it. Instead of Tracey’s lithe frame, broad shoulders and honey-brown skin walk through the door, my heart finding its new place in my throat as Coral gripped my arm like a vice.

My hands clammed up as my eyes met the mahogany brown eyes I’d spend a year of my life at home in, and the next two years agonizing over. Calum paused when our eyes met, his lips parting in his apparent shock. Heat rose in my cheeks as I clenched my jaw, my hand tightening around my pen. Calum looked ready to snap, his whole body as tightly coiled as the white-knucked hand wrapped around the door handle.

I tore my eyes away from him when Ashton Irwin’s familiar mop of golden brown hair peeked over Calum’s shoulder, his usual boyish grin falling into something more closed, his eyes darting between my bandmates and I.

“Oh, shit,” He muttered, glancing between Calum and I, an astonished look crossing his face as he took in our tense shoulders.

Oh shit indeed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u to the one person who commented on this and gave me the energy to post this and continue writing <3 
> 
> quarantining is getting harder and harder but we're all in this together!! hope everyone is staying safe!!


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The date is August 21, 2017, and Harlow and Calum meet for the very first time.

_ August 21, 2017 _

**I chewed on** the inside of my cheek as I fiddled with the plastic strap of my guitar case, watching the duo covering Big Jet Plane by  _ Angus & Julia Stone _ impassively, focusing more on keeping my breathing steady and my heartbeat calm than the performance in front of me.

They were  _ good  _ which was only making my nerves  _ worse _ —but I was used to performing, I reminded myself. This was just another performance. The only difference was this would be my first time singing outside of the local coffee shops back home in Houston because I’d finally gotten away from the suburbia I’d grown up in. San Diego was warm in all the ways Houston wasn’t, only the temps here were much more manageable compared to the unrelenting heat and humidity my body had acclimated to the past 18 years. 

I pushed my hair from where it’d fallen into my eyes, tucking the ultraviolet curl behind my ear as I took in the coffee shop’s street-artist aesthetic. It’s brick walls were covered in posters from local bands and artists, art from students at the university I would soon be attending, and chalkboards with the latest latte specials written out with careful concentration. The couches and chairs were a warm brown leather, the tables and chairs mahogany with a black metal structure. The lights dangling from the exposed rafters reminded me of the cover of _The_ _City of Ember_ , steam-punk and homey rolled into one. 

I was brought back down to earth from the applause around me, conversations breaking out as the duo began to pack up their things; the man and woman who just sang chatted easily between themselves as they packed their guitars with practiced ease. I slowly sucked in a breath and exhaled as they finished, wiping my clammy palms on my jeans before I stood, leaving my case and half-drank latte at the table I’d snagged at the back. 

I carefully sat on the stool the cafe had placed on the makeshift stage, positioning myself in front of the mic as I strummed out a few notes to make sure my guitar was still in tune. Satisfied, I looked up from my fingers and smiled at the small crowd, some of my anxieties melting away at the kind faces staring back. 

“Hello, I’m Harlow,” I started, shifting in the stool to get more comfortable with my guitar. I never really said much about myself before singing—I didn’t  _ want _ to. I just wanted people to listen. “This first one’s called Funeral. Please be kind.”

The chords were simple, and my fingers plucked through them on their own accord, my body knowing the song even when my brain feels like it doesn’t. 

“ _ I’m singing at a funeral tomorrow for a kid a year older than me…”  _ My eyes closed the moment I started singing, the emotions I normally kept bottled up finding their way to the surface. Part of me only really felt human when I was singing out my emotions. It was the only time I let myself sink into them, let them consume me whole. A hush went over the shop as my voice filled the space, a thrill running down my spine as they quieted for me. I continued through my song, my voice confident as I sang through to the chorus. “ _ Jesus Christ, I’m so blue all the time, and that’s just how I feel. Always have and I always will; I always have and I always will.”  _

It was—well. It was a sad song because I was  _ good  _ at writing sad songs. They were the only songs my brain managed to write most of the time, and a more melancholy, morose tone suited my voice the best. I could be soft and the quiet parts, and strong at the emotional parts—but my eyes were usually always closed. I don’t know  _ why  _ I impulsively closed them, but whenever I felt like everything was too much or the lights were too bright or I was almost too  _ scared— _ closing my eyes made it easier to let it all out. 

“ _ And it’s 4 a.m. again and I’m doing nothing again,”  _ I finished, looking down at my fingers as I strummed out the last few notes, repeating the melody from the chorus on guitar before I let the last note ring out.

“Well that was fucking sad,” I said when I was finished, earning a few chuckles from the small audience as they clapped. I impulsively ran my fingers through my hair and behind my ears to make sure my hair was in placem face heating as I realized just  _ how many  _ people had stopped what they were doing to listen. “Um, that one was an original, but for my final song I’ll be doing a slowed cover of Friday I’m In Love, so grab your lover—or even a friend—and hold them close.”

This song didn’t require the same amount of emotional vulnerability, so I let my eyes drift around the room, sometimes catching someone’s eye, sometimes keeping them trained on the wall at the front of the shop. The lighting in the shop was warm and a little dim in some areas, making the people look hazy, soft. There wasn’t a spotlight on me or anything, so it was fairly easy to make out the different faces in the store. I pulled away from the mic as I strummed out the chords leading to the third voice, my breath getting caught in my throat as I locked eyes with a boy around my age with honey brown skin and dark, almond-shaped eyes.

“ _ Monday you can hold your head, _ ” I tore my eyes from his, my face heating. He was  _ cute _ , and he was looking at me like I was  _ something, _ and it was almost too much. I avoided his eyes as best as I could, but every so often I would glance over at him to see if he was still there. He was, though he’d moved to rest his elbow on the table he was sitting at, his head on his palm as a slight smile graced his lips. 

It wasn’t as though I was unaccustomed to attractive people watching me sing—I’d been singing in coffee shops and bookstores in Houston since I had my license. And before then, there was always choir and theater performances. But there was something about the way he looked at me, something in the way I couldn’t stop looking at him. With eyes like magnets I met his gaze as I sung the last line, a fluttering feeling turning my stomach in on itself. 

_ “...Thursday doesn't even start, it's Friday I'm in love,” _ I finished, looking away from the boy to watch my fingers strum the last few bars of guitar, nodding my head along to match the tempo. When I finished, I dared another look at him to find him clapping, his cheeks squishing into his eyes as they formed crescent-moons. I ducked my head to hide my smile as I felt my ears heat.

“Thank you all for listening, have a wonderful rest of your evening,” I spoke into the mic, looking around the room to the different patrons. Finishing a set—albeit a short one—always left me feeling wholly me, reborn again into something magnificent. I quickly stepped down from the stool and smiled at the man who was following my performance, flashing him a good luck smile as I made my way over to my table and my lukewarm latte. I pointedly did  _ not  _ look at the boy who’d enraptured me, instead focusing on finishing my coffee as I set my guitar to lean against the vacant chair. I would put it away after I finished my drink, but I wanted to give myself a moment to chill before moving again.

“Hi,” I jumped at the voice behind me, almost choking on my coffee as the boy stepped around me, his lips curved in a crooked smile as I tried to recover. He was tall—taller than me, I realized with a thrill—with long, strong legs and sculpted arms decorated in splashes of black ink. I felt a pang of jealousy as I thought of my own untouched skin, my mother’s threats of disowning me coming to mind as I jumped from tattoo to tattoo, briefly taking them in. I realized in my staring I had completely missed what he’d said to me, and my face heated as I looked up to his face, his face unreadable, his eyebrows slightly pinched.

“Sorry, I missed that—what did you say?” I internally cringed at my slip, chewing on the inside of my cheek as his face smoothed out in understanding. Whenever I focused on something I tended to tune the rest of the world out; it was partially due to my ADD, and partially due to my inability to detect social cues. 

He smiled, gesturing to the chair my guitar was leaning against with the hand holding his coffee. “Can I join you?”

“Oh!” I exclaimed, leaning forward to grab my guitar so he could sit, leaning it against the window next to the table I was sitting at. Now that he’d spoken more than a single word, I heard his accent almost immediately. “Sure, if you want?”

“I do want,” He said as he sat, placing his coffee down confidently. He held out his hand a moment later, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’m Calum.”

“Hi,” I said, discreetly wiping my hand on my jean-clad leg before shaking his hand with a nervous smile. It wasn’t like romance books described it—there wasn’t a spark, or a jolt of electricity, or any fireworks—but it still sent a thrill through me, every nerve in my body hyper-focused on the way his hand wrapped around mine. I glanced down at the letters  _ DSH _ engraved onto his skin, his rings cold where they touched my skin. My free hand twisted at the hole in the left knee of my jeans as he squeezed my hand. I didn’t know why someone who looked like they’d just come out of one of my fantasies was talking to me, but I didn’t want to mess it up—and I was  _ good  _ at talking to people, a skill I’d learned from my extroverted father despite being an introvert myself. “I’m Harlow, it’s nice to meet you?”

“You as well,” He said warmly. He had a pleasant voice—low, a little raspy, with a slight lisp on the ‘ _ s’  _ sound in words. “I noticed your SDSU sticker on your guitar which is why I’m being such a creep—I’m a junior there actually!” He explained, taking a sip from his coffee when he released my hand. I nodded and felt some of the tension leave my shoulders as I relaxed a bit more into my chair, my hand falling into my lap—fingers twitching from the contact.

“Oh, cool! I’m a freshman,” I explained, tucking a piece of purple hair behind my ear. “If you couldn’t tell by the hair, I’m a studio art major. I actually made some of the stickers on my guitar.” I told him, gesturing to the instrument in question. His eyebrows rose as he peeked around me to take a look, his mouth parting as his eyes jumped across my guitar (and  _ wow,  _ did he have pretty lips).

“What the fuck, that’s sick,” Calum grinned, the slight lisp to his speech making my heart squeeze in my chest. “I’m international relations which is  _ so  _ boring, do not get me started, but I think you’re officially the coolest person I’ve ever met.” My face—which I could tell was already bright red from how  _ hot  _ it was—seemed to get even hotter under his praise. I sent a silent thank you to the owners of the cafe for the dim lighting that concealed most of it, keeping me from looking like the tomato I felt like. 

“Oh my god, not even,” I said, rolling my eyes to downplay just how much his words pleased me. 

“I’m being 100% serious,” He said, leaning forward slightly as he rested his arms on the table, his fingers playing with the cardboard sleeve around his cup as his smile twisted up on one side. His eyes crinkled around the edges, and I realized then that he was  _ flirting  _ with me, like,  _ openly.  _ “What other hidden talents do you possess, I wonder.”

“I mean,” I started, fighting back a grin as he waited for me to finish, his eyes bright and expectant. “It’s not a hidden talent, but sometimes I write stories—or I guess I  _ have _ attempted to write a novel a couple of times, but I’ve never actually finished one. Writing is  _ hard _ .”

He laughed at my tone and sat back in his chair, tilting his head at me as he squinted. “An artist, musician,  _ and  _ a writer? I think I’ve met my soulmate.”

“Oh, shut up,” I laughed, shaking my head. A pleased, gummy smile bloomed across his face at my laughter, filling my stomach with a warmth that made me want to squirm in my seat. “There are plenty of people out there heaps more talented than I am. I just have bursts of…” I trailed off and looked toward the man singing an unrecognizable song, his deep voice calming. I didn’t know where all of this was coming from, honestly. I’d never been someone to open up so easily, instead choosing to keep things close to my chest.  _ I  _ was usually the person with all of the questions, happy to sit in silence as I learned as much information as I could without giving away much about myself. But I didn’t  _ mind _ sharing these things with Calum, especially when he seemed so eager to hear them. I looked back to Calum and chose my words carefully, gesturing around my head with a wave of my hand. “Restless inspiration, I guess?”

This, at last, seemed to melt the intoxicating smile from his face as he tilted his head in question. “Restless inspiration?”

“It’s like I’ll  _ want  _ to create, right? But everything will be shit,” I started, playing with the sleeve of my empty coffee cup. His eyes darted down to my hands before settling back on my face as he nodded in understanding. “ This can go on for months until it’s like suddenly the muses are blessing me with this inner voice that just… knows exactly what I want to say, or what I’ll want to paint. It’s pretty agonizing waiting for those moments, though.”

“I totally get it,” He said, looking at me with an unreadable expression. At my questioning look he continued, though he seemed to shrink in on himself, shy. “I’m actually in a band myself, but writing has always been my first love. I wanted to change my major to English but I figured I’d better stick with what I’m in so I don’t get burnt out.”

“For sure! Art is my second favorite thing to do which is why I’m majoring in that and not something to do with music,” I said supportively, suddenly desperate to get the unsure look off of his face. I didn’t know if it was the band or the writing part that made him suddenly close off, but figured of all the things people usually talked to him about, writing wasn't one of them. “What do you like to write? I’m like, super into fantasy shit—like Game of Thrones and whatnot. But I also dabble in poetry when I’m feeling especially angst-y.”

The corner of his mouth lifted in a smile as he swallowed the sip of coffee he’d just taken. “Short stories, poetry—I really like expository writing, too. I actually found this short story I’d written when I was a kid and it was—” He broke off in a laugh, shaking his head. My heart squeezed at his gummy smile, and I found myself grinning with him, completely enamored. “It’s so terrible and funny, I’ll have to read it for you sometime.”

“I’d love that,” I said earnestly, pressing my foot into the table leg to contain the sudden burst of energy I’d gotten at his words. His smile fell to something softer, and I realized just how close we’d gotten, both of us leaning across the table. If I straightened my fingers from where they were wrapped around my cup I could touch him, could see if his skin was as warm as he made me feel. Before I could do something stupid, and before either of us could say anything else, his phone chimed from his pocket. As he leaned back to wiggle it out of his jeans, I leaned back until my back hit the chair, chewing the inside of my cheek as I watched the man singing.

“Oh shit, I’m late for band practice. Uh, listen,” I cut my eyes back to him as he brought out a pen and small black notebook, scribbling something. I internally yelled at the sight of it, thinking of the notebook I always had with me in the front pocket of my guitar case for wayward ideas for songs and my writing. He tore the page out and handed it to me, our fingers brushing as he passed me the note. “Here’s my number.  _ Please  _ feel free to text me, no muses necessary.”

“I will,” I promised, laughing at his joke. As I clutched the paper between my fingers, he flashed me a smile, standing. “Wait—what’s your band called? I have some major stalking to do tonight.”

He laughed, the sound light and airy as he blessed me with another crinkly-eyed look (how was it that I was already completely charmed by him?). “ _ The Cosmic Drown.  _ I play bass.”

_ “The Cosmic Drown,” _ I repeated so I’d remember, nodding. “It was really nice to meet you, Calum.”

“You, too, Harlow,” He said softly, drumming his fingers on the table before he shook his head, smiling down at me. “Bye.”

“Bye,” I mimicked, lifting my hand in a wave. With one final look, Calum was leaving, returning my heart to a normal pace as I looked down at his slanted writing, grinning. I chewed on the inside of my cheek before pulling my phone out, adding his contact almost immediately. I looked out the window and watched his retreating frame, long legs carrying him down the street and out of view.

_ have a good band practice!! sorry for making you late :p _

I typed out the message and hit send before I could think better of it, clicking my phone closed immediately after and busying myself with putting my guitar in its case. My stomach didn’t untie itself from its knotted state until his name flashed across the screen, my finger swiping the message open almost instantaneously.

_ Even if my bandmates kill me for it, it would be worth it (-: _

I hid my face in my hands and let out a quiet squeal, my toes scrunching up in my shoes as my stomach fluttered. I allowed myself a moment to bask in the feeling of being wanted before I opened up Spotify, ready to do some digging. 

It was going to be an interesting year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a big, Big, BIG thank you to ao3 user ghxst_of_me and miss malayna for giving me the drive to continue writing <3
> 
> here's a fluffy chapter 4, i hope you enjoyed it!! this is not the last of the flashbacks! i will be sprinkling them throughout the story as things between harlow and calum progress (":


	5. Chapter Five

_ Paper Records Main Office, Los Angeles, CA _

_ September 5th, 2020 _

**The annoying thing** was, Calum still made me feel breathless. But not the giddy, love-struck breathlessness he once made me feel. This kind was dark and heavy, sending my thoughts in the sort of spiral that was reserved for four am study sessions in the quiet of my room—decidedly  _ not  _ suited for the meeting that was supposed to change my life, or whatever. 

I brought my attention back to my notebook as  _ The Cosmic Drown _ shuffled in, murmurs too quiet for my ears to register cutting through the tense air. I continued my drawing a little more frantically, my free hand clenching on my lap and Coral’s hand relaxed on my arm and pulled away as she pressed her foot against mine in silent support. Milo draped an arm behind my chair, leaning over under the guise of getting a better look at my notebook as I drew. My nose pinched at my friend's support and I had to blink away the tears as I started on another eye, my drawing hand steady despite my stomach filling with a flurry of moths. 

I had spent the past two years desperately trying—and ultimately failing—to avoid thinking of Calum, I never stopped to think about what would happen if I actually saw him again. I paused my hand and glanced up at him through my lashes, my hair falling from where I’d tucked it behind my ears to give me a curtain of loose curls I could look through.

He looked—beautiful. He’d obviously changed a bit in the two years apart, but for the most part he was still the person I’d fallen in love with. Curly, dark hair was replaced by a buzzed bleached look, his once clean-shaven face sprinkled with a dark stubble. Tattoos I didn’t recognize peeked out from the collar of his light blue button down, forearms on display as the sleeves of his shirt were pushed artfully up to his elbows. His nails were covered in chipped black nail polish. 

I felt something tug at me, unfurling parts of myself I hadn’t realized were closed off. It was an old, once-familiar feeling I would wade in for hours, the sun on my face and skin flushed pink. It was like the current pulling you away from shore; it was the desire for your bed after weeks away; it was the call of a sea to a fisherman gone inland. It was Longing. 

I dragged my eyes away.

Ashton and Michael were the most unchanged apart from their hair—while Ashton’s is shorter than the mop he’d sported in college, Michael’s was a natural honey-blonde, much healthier than what it was the first time we’d met (I take all the credit for that, teaching him how to properly care for hair when we used to do ours together).

Luke, who was sitting across from me, gave me a small smile when our eyes met, his blue eyes understanding, kind. Of the three I wasn’t dating at the time, Luke and I were the closest back when we played together. I missed him when Calum and I broke up, but I’d cut off all ties when they were signed to keep myself sane. His hair—now grown out—was wavy, loose ringlets framing his face. He looked broader than he did two years ago—strong, healthy. I was happy to see him, so I gave him a small smile back, mouthing a quick ‘ _ hi’ _ across the table as I lifted my head. Sierra—my freshman year roommate, and his girlfriend at the time—flashed in my mind. I wondered if they were still together and the childish, selfish part of me hoped they weren't. If they were no longer together like Calum and I weren't, it would… Sate me, I think. Or at the very least, it would make it worth  _ something _ , would validate it as a bi-product of your band signing a record deal rather than just a means to an end for Calum.

“So,” Ashton started, placing interlaced fingers on the table as his forearms rested on the edge. The nails on his ring fingers were painted a deep red, and when I glanced up at his face I found hazel eyes already looking back. “How are things?”

“Things are things,” Milo said, unrevealing. I huffed out a laugh through my nose as Ashton’s face fell, a pained look crossing his features before it was gone in a flash. I dropped my eyes back to my notebook to continue my drawing, hoping my brain would tune out the forced small talk the other was attempting. 

“I saw your music video,” Ashton continued anyway, ever the conversationalist. I grit my teeth at his incessant need to make things better, my hand tightening around my pen. “You directed it, Seb?”

“ _ And  _ edited it,” Coral said, giving her fiancé a smile. I wanted to take another look at Calum, a small part of me not believing that he was actually  _ here  _ in the same room as me, but I forced myself to keep my eyes on the paper in front of me, the page slowly filling up with lines of ink.

“That’s sick, man. You’re really talented,” Michael chimed in. I looked up at him, his green eyes on Sebastian. I could see Calum looking at me in my peripheral, but kept my eyes carefully on Michael as I sat my pen down, my hands shaking too much to properly hold it anymore. 

The room fell into a thick silence, the only sound the low hum of the AC. I bit the inside of my cheek as my heartbeat quickened, the silence more agonizing than Ashton and Michael’s attempts at making things less awkward for us all. 

It was my fault the room was so tense, I realized, and desperately tried to think of a way to fix it, to get us all to take a deep breath and  _ relax.  _ My eyes landed on Luke again, and I forced my anxiety down as I swallowed around the lump in my throat. 

“How have you been, Luke?” I managed to get out, my voice steadier than I felt. He seemed shocked at my question, his eyes widening for a split second. Then, his expression changed and he smiled, a dimple flashing to view.

“Really good, honestly,” He said with a sheepish smile, darting his eyes to Calum before speaking again. “Sierra and I are still together, maybe we could grab lunch together sometime? I know she’d love to catch up with you.”

“I would love that. Remind me to give you my new number and have her text me when she’s free,” I smiled through the shock of the confirmation of their relationship, agreeing before I could think myself out of it. A sickening feeling filled my stomach with acid, but I squanched it down, pushing it away. 

“How’s the album coming?” 

“Harlow wrote a song last night! Well, this morning too, I guess,” Seb said cheerily, answering Luke’s question before I had the chance. He sat forward and caught my eye, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Did you sleep at all last night?” 

“Not nearly enough, but I’ve been running on fumes since I started college so it’s nothing new. Plus,” I waved my hand in the air around my head, Coral giving me a smile when she realized where I was going with it.

“The  _ muses, _ ” The rest of my band finished, Coral nudging her shoulder into mine as we shared a look between us. She turned to her fiancé after a moment, my eyes almost immediately latching onto Calum’s as he stared at me from across the table, expression unreadable, mouth pinched. The weight of his gaze left me reeling for air as my fingers slowly curled into my palms, my heartbeat quickening in my ears. 

The first few months after he ended things, I used to imagine what it would be like to see him again—to be near him. I imagined I would yell, would tear into him with the fury of a thousand suns as I screamed out how it felt when he ended things. I imagined I would be indifferent. I would notice him but not care, instead continuing on with my day without another thought in his direction, his presence a mere inconvenience, a blip. I imagined I would panic, would feel the floor rip out from me as the air was sucked from my lungs. I imagined I would crumple up and cry. I imagined I would smile, and he would smile back.

I imagined all of these different ways for our paths to entangle once more, but I never imagined how numb it would really feel. How instead of fire there was only the cold, a detached feeling filling me, freezing me from the inside out. I wanted to be the girl with the fury of a thousand suns, or the girl who didn’t care, or even the girl who cared too much. I didn’t want to be  _ this _ girl—a shell, empty and hollow. 

I tore my eyes away and looked down at my notebook, trying to reel in everything I was feeling to deal with later—hopefully alone, in the privacy of my car as I blasted music. Nothing new was said between the two bands, the four members of  _ The Cosmic Drown  _ partaking in their own hushed conversations as Seb and Coral talked, Milo silent next to me. 

I slowly uncurled my fingers and traced over the half-moons my blunt nails managed to leave behind with the pad of my pointer finger, inwardly sighing at the marks. Next to me, Milo grabbed my pen, catching my attention. In my notebook he’d started a game of tic-tac-toe, wiggling his eyebrows at me with a smile when I gave him an incredulous look that quickly morphed into a smile. 

“Thanks,” I whispered as we played, my heart squeezing in my chest as my best friend tried to distract me. Milo and I played four rounds of the game while he rambled about a TV show he’d recently gotten into, his voice a soothing distraction from the part of me that wanted to give in and look across the table again. After he won two rounds he threw the next one to me, earning an eye-roll and laugh as I elbowed him. “Don’t  _ let  _ me win.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about! I’m terrible at tic-tac-toe,” He replied, taking the pen from me after I started the next game. I wordlessly pointed at the two games he’d won, his laugh in my ear a warming sound. “Okay, you got me there.”

We played two more games until the knob on the door was twisting open and Tracey’s frame stepped into view, trailed by another woman and three more men. Following  _ The Cosmic Drown’s  _ lead, we all stood, exchanging introductions and pleasantries as they went around the room. As everyone went back to their seats, all attention was on the man at the head of the table.

I recognized him from the little blurb about him on the Paper Records website and felt my nerves grow as the President, Rick Murphy, regarded everyone surrounding him with a pleased smile. The look only made my stomach knot, and I twisted my fingers together under the table as I glanced between him, the profile of Coral’s carefully relaxed face, and Tracey, practically vibrating with excitement. 

“First and foremost, I would like to welcome  _ loose fixture  _ to the Paper Records family!” He said cheerfully, blue eyes twinkling like Santa Claus. When our eyes met he smiled and nodded at me, my own lips quirking up in their own smile. Unlike other men in power, he didn’t give off the same authoritarian vibe. Instead, he oozed the welcoming feeling you’d receive from a grandfather you hadn’t seen in months—slightly awkward, but kind and welcoming all the same. “We are very fortunate to have nabbed you before anyone else could, and I’m excited to see your development as artists with us for the years to come. Now, let’s get to business.”

With that, both Tracey and the other woman started pulling papers out of their cases and moving about the room to hand, Coral and I sharing a brief look before the papers were placed in front of us. When I looked down at the paper, the only thing I could think was,  _ this might as well happen.  _

“As you can see from the promotional poster in front of you, we here at Paper Records have been given a gift: the gift of nostalgia! We know you all attended the same college and used to play together, and when we came in contact with Mark Wagner in regards to an up-and-coming band who used to play shows with one of our own—well, I think you can all see where I’m going with this,” Mr. Murphy said ceremoniously, his wrinkled face spread in a wide smile as my stomach lodged itself in my throat. I kept my eyes carefully on Mr. Murphy as my emotions ran rampant within me, my nose pinching as they came to the front. I lowered my head to my notebook and slowly raised my pen to the page.

_ Open for TCD — US/Euro tour _

Mr. Murphy continued, “By having  _ loose fixture  _ open for  _ The Cosmic Drown  _ on the European and North American portions of the tour, we’ll be able to draw in new fans and strengthen the numbers for both groups. Both bands have similar sounds with similar mechanics—a lead, a guitarist, a bassist, and a drummer—which will lend well to any promotional photos and videos we’ll be taking in the time leading up to the tour. The fact that you are all old friends only sweetens the deal! There’s a greater chance for fans on either side to want to dive into the other group knowing that there’s a real connection there. And is it not one of the great joys in life to reconvene with old friends after so much time has passed?”

He voiced the question to the group as a whole, and I could only give a numb nod in response, a fake smile lifting the corners of my lips. I looked back down at my notebook to see what I’d written, Mr. Murphy's continuous chatter drowned out to a mere buzzing sound in the background. 

_ Open for TCD — US/Euro tour _

_ logistics: _

_ -marketing stuff (pics? vids?) _

_ -practicing _

_ - _ _ get a passport _

_ -finish album?? _

My eyes skimmed over the last line and abruptly stopped, Mr. Murphy’s voice becoming clearer as I looked up to him. At a pause in his speech, I raised my hand slightly to get his attention. 

“You don’t have to raise your hand, but please,” Mr. Murphy smiled, gesturing for me to go on. 

“When is the deadline for our album?” I asked in a voice I was proud to say was  _ not  _ shaking, or wavering. I sounded like I did in class—clear and professional, if not a little clipped around the edges. 

“Deadline?” He repeated, as though the thought had never crossed his mind. He quickly recovered, stating, “Well, we need it written and recorded in three weeks time to give our sound editors the time to mix everything. So, by the end of the month.”

I nodded and felt partially at ease as I wrote  _ THREE WEEKS  _ in my notebook, grateful for the deadline however close it was. 

Mr. Murphy took his leave shortly after that, Tracey and the other woman in the room taking over as they passed out a timeline for both bands for pre-tour activities, the dates and locations of the tour, and mock-up’s of the promotional posters.

“Oh, I haven’t seen these photos in ages!” Coral said as we looked through the posters, all of them from college. While some only contained photos of  _ The Cosmic Drown _ , some included group photos of all of us, our smiles bright and our faces young. In one particular collage-style poster, the creator carefully sprinkled photos of Calum and I throughout the poster. In a group-shot of all of us taken after their first show together, I had my arms around Calum’s shoulders from behind, standing on the stage so I could lean over him a little. He had his hands on my arms, cheesy grins on our faces as our cheeks squished together. In another, he was splayed on a couch with his head in my lap, our eyes locked as we smiled at one another. Two smiling, young people. Stars in their eyes. 

“God, just _look_ at my hair back then,” Milo groaned, pointing at himself in the group photo, his hair shaggy and unkempt. I snickered, happy for a distraction, and leaned into his side as he wrapped a comforting arm around me. 

“Look at  _ me!  _ All that purple,” I went along with him, pointing to the shock of ultraviolet that was my hair when I was a wee, barely-legal adult. 

“Yeah, what you’ve got going on now is cute,” He twisted one of my curls around his finger, the brown lock falling back into place when he finally released it. I laughed and shook my hair out, hitting him in the face with it. He sputtered and pushed me away from him, fake-coughing like a cat fighting through a hairball. 

I glanced over to the front of the table, Calum’s eyes meeting mine for a split-second before he was dropping them down to the same poster, his mouth twisted to the side. I grit my teeth and forced myself to look at Tracey who had started outlining the logistics of everything for the next few months and then the tour itself, losing myself in filling up my notebook with information. 

  
  
  
  
  


“Oh no you don’t,” Coral said as we exited the elevator in the parking garage a few hours later. She grabbed my arm to stop me in my tracks as I tried to make a beeline for my car, her hand tight around my arm. She quickly linked arms with me when I turned, giving her a sour look. “I’m coming with you.”

“Coral, I love you, but I just  _ really  _ need to be alone right now,” I tried, giving her a strained smile as I attempted to unwind her arm from mine. This only seemed to make the small woman hold on tighter, our hips touching as she dragged me near her. 

“Harlow, I love  _ you _ , which is why I’m not letting you be alone right now. If you don’t talk about this now, you’ll never talk about it,” She said, Milo and Seb—the traitors—nodding their heads in agreement. 

“You went through at least five stages of grief in that meeting, dude,” Milo said, his blue eyes laced with concern. I scoffed and looked down at my shoes, biting the inside of my cheek as he placed a gentle arm on my shoulder. 

“There’s  _ only  _ five stages of grief,” I mumbled, kicking away a pebble and watching as it scattered across the ground. 

“All the more reason as to why you shouldn't be alone right now!” Milo quipped, his crooked smile charming me before I rolled my eyes. 

“We just want you to be okay,” Seb said in his soft voice, making me feel _ all kinds _ of guilty for trying to refuse their help when I obviously needed it. 

“Okay,  _ fine _ ,” I relented, biting into my cheek to suppress a smile as Milo and Coral cheered, the four of us walking to our cars after a quick group hug. 

We were silent as we walked up to my car, the old Xterra roaring to life as I started her up. The smell that wafted from the AC was a familiar, stale stench that was masked as I fumbled to light up a cigarette. Coral made a face at me as I rolled down my window but made no verbal comment on my coping mechanism as I took a healthy drag from the stick.

“I feel so shitty,” I told Coral as I bucked up, plugging my phone into the aux when I was finished. She tucked a leg under her and twisted to look at me,  _ Pierce The Veil’s _ The New National Anthem starting up through the speakers. I glanced at her face as I backed up, the slightly disgruntled look there cueing me in on what she thought of my choice in music. 

“Why?” She prompted as we made the winding turns out of the garage, all of the emotions I had pushed away during the meeting making my chest tighten.

“This was supposed to be a good thing, you know? Like, _holy_ _shit!_ We’re going on tour! We’re traveling and playing our music! But it’s all fucked up. If it was literally any other band we were touring with we’d all be going out for drinks and celebrating—maybe even with them. But because it’s me, and because it’s _him_ , we can’t even do that! You guys have to deal with me being all—whatever,” I gestured vaguely at myself with the cigarette, keeping my eyes carefully in front of me. With one look at Coral I knew I’d lose it, and despite how I may feel on my worst nights, I didn’t _really_ want to get in a car crash. I took a drag and blew the smoke out of the corner of my mouth, away from Coral.

“How  _ do  _ you feel?” She asked after a beat. 

I laughed humorously, “Some things are better left alone, Coral.”

“No this,” Coral insisted, placing a light touch on my arm. “Not with you. So I ask you again: how  _ are  _ you?”   
We merged on the highway in silence, a  _ Sleeping With Sirens  _ song I could barely register starting up. My cigarette was long gone by the time we hit the highway, so I dropped it in an empty fast food cup to throw away later. I dislodged my teeth from where they were picking apart the inside of my mouth, the skin pinching in its rawness.

“I’m tired, Coral. I thought up all of these scenarios in my head of what it would be like to see him again. Would I yell? Cry? Laugh? Not care? I thought of everything I would say to him and everything I thought I would feel, but actually seeing him was… different. I felt  _ cold.  _ Detached. Like I was there, but at the same time I wasn’t,” I shook my head at my words, frustration building. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I was feeling.”

“It was definitely a shock for all of us,” She said with a light laugh. I smiled ruefully and stole a glance at her, her brown eyes staring out at the slowly lowering sun. “I don’t even know how  _ I  _ would feel if I were you. It’s okay to not know what you were feeling.”

“But I  _ do  _ feel!” I exclaimed suddenly, waving a hand around as I spoke and jostling her hand off of me. “I feel crazy! It’s like all of my body is vibrating and there’s this tightness in my chest and I’m  _ feeling,  _ only it’s like I’m going through every emotion through flashes. One second I’m angry, the next I’m sad, the next I’m shocked,” I wet my lips and resisted the urge to rest my head on the steering wheel and close my eyes, my voice just above a whisper when I spoke again. “The worst part is he still made me  _ want.  _ I saw him and it felt like I was 18 all over again.”

“You never got closure, Lo,” Coral reminded me. “It was like your breakup was _too_ clean. One second you were in love, the next you were broken up. You were _in_ love with him when he broke up with you. No one is expecting anything of you or your emotions, so you shouldn’t put so much pressure on yourself to feel the ‘right’ thing. There is no right way to feel, only _how_ you feel.”

I rubbed at my nose as it pinched, all of the fight seeming to vanish from my body as I slumped in my seat. She silently passed me a tissue from the console and I dabbed the corners of my eyes to collect the wetness before it fell, letting out a harsh breath. 

“How am I gonna survive this tour, Cor? How are we supposed to take promotional photos and perform together when all I can think about is how fucked up it all is? I’d made peace with him, for the most part. He wasn’t supposed to come in here and ruin me all over again.”

“Well, you’re not ruined, and you certainly won’t be alone. No matter how hard you try to push us away,” Coral’s voice was fond when she swiped a stray tear from my face, her fingers cool and light on my face. “Me, Seb, Milo—we’ve got your back, no matter what. You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” I said, nodding to convince myself. “Yeah, I know. I just—forget sometimes, I think.”

Coral made a noise of agreement as she checked her nails. “If Calum fucks with you we’ll sic Milo on him. That white boy is scrappy.”

The laugh bubbled out of me without a pretense, loud in the way all laughter is when it comes bursting from you suddenly. Coral joined in and I reached over to clasp our hands together, giving the hand in mine squeeze.

“Thank you for not letting me be alone.”

“You’re never alone,” She said simply, leaving the imprint of her lips on the back of my hand. “Now, let’s change this music up. I can’t listen to any of your depressing emo shit any longer.”

“Yeah, me neither,” I passed her my phone and she quickly took over being the DJ, mumbling to herself about my lack of musical cohesiveness.

My emotions were still frazzled, buzzing under my skin like an itch I couldn’t scratch, but when I looked over and saw Coral’s over exaggerated dancing to an Ariana Grande song, I knew that it would pass, and I would be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for reading!!! i hope ur all doing well sorry this one took so long i forgot to post it lol

**Author's Note:**

> yes i'm 20 yes i've been in love with calum since i was 12, we exist


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